The place where dreams glitch, mirrors crack first, and ghosts repeat what the living refuse to say. poetry born from soft rot and voltage a broadcast of shadow, tenderness, and the truths we were taught to call normal. Here, the voice is faceless and feminine, stitched from memory, myth, and the quiet violence of survival. Every piece is a transmission: part ritual, part rupture, never quite a spell but close enough to feel like one. If you’re drawn to the echoes, the fractures, the beauty in decay you’re home. Settle in. Listen closely. The static has something to tell you....